


He's Got You High

by lookingforatardis



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Abel is innocent (in this) okay, Angst, Armie is very nervous that timmy is in trouble, Drugs, He has zero chill basically, High!Timmy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-13 10:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14747108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookingforatardis/pseuds/lookingforatardis
Summary: Timmy goes to a party with The Weeknd, but when he doesn't text Brian about where he is/what he's doing, he panics and asks Armie to go check in to make sure he's okay. Inspired by the Cannes Film Fest but not necessarily taking place there...just...fyi





	1. and you don't even know yet

**Author's Note:**

> Titles are lyrics and variations of She's Got You High by Mumm-ra. I listened to a lot of M83 while writing this which i know is a missed opportunity when i could have listened to Abel's music but honestly that was not doing it for me inspiration wise haha
> 
> also! LET IT BE KNOWN i do not think abel would force timmy to do drugs. i do not think hanging out with these people necessarily would ever mean timmy would do drugs. ok. proceed.

Armie stares out the window with a clenched jaw, elbow resting against the cold door, hand covering his chin and mouth. Another glance at his phone, another hasty check of social media. "Ay man, I'm not gonna be able to get much closer, I can turn down—"

"Here's fine," Armie mutters, gets out before the car is even completely stopped, throws some bills throw the window and shaking his foot having been trapped in a puddle at the curb. He walks quickly, withdrawn, hands in his pockets, a hoodie pulled up in an attempt to hide his face. His fingers twitch when he passes a group of guys smoking pot and reminds himself that he needs to be sober for this. Someone needed to be. 

He gets another text from Brian and replies that he made it alright, his eyes darting down between his phone and the faces he passes. He fights his way through a sweaty crowd and tries to press his own memories of his more reckless days away. There had been a time when he would have been leading the brigade to mx and light up whatever people smuggled into parties. Maybe that's why Brian called him; he had more experience with this than the rest of the circle of influence Timmy kept around him.

He lowers his hood and flashes a smile when he needs to get through VIP areas until he gets into a separate party in a sort of small makeshift warehouse with horrendous lighting. An earthy, almost mulch like scent fills him as he walks through, the air dense and heated, the room vibrating with the sound of the DJ in the corner. He knows they'll be near the front, that's their MO, especially with the girls there to get in pictures and sway with the artists. There would be phones everywhere; Armie already starts calculating the amount he's willing to risk if there isn't a way to get him out without making a scene. He recognizes a lot of the people here, though; most know better than to record unsavory things for media.

When he sees him through the smoke, his stomach drops. He sees Abel first, a joint between his lips and a glass of something in his hand. Timmy takes it from his lips and presses it between his own. His head lulls to the side as Abel smiles when he takes a long drag while swaying. His shirt sticks to him, Armie can see it from where he stands. He can't get to them fast enough— bodies press too close in the space between them, his head pounds. Abel kisses Bella and someone else, someone he doesn't recognize, eggs them on loudly. The whole group is there and when Armie all but throws someone out of his way, he sees a small plastic bag on the table. It sits empty but not lonely, a few bottles with varying levels of liquid in them accompany it, as well as an ashtray and a myriad of smaller suspicious looking objects that Armie can’t make out. He can't tell if there are any lines on the table but he knows enough to know what would have filled the bag. Even if it wasn't cocaine, it would be pills, and honestly, he's not sure which he hopes it was. "Timmy!" A girl starts dancing with Armie, trying to get him to pay attention to her. 

He can't breathe.

"Timmy!" he screams again, Abel turning at the sound and seeing him. He's close enough now to see the red in his eyes and flush on his cheeks. There’s a similar look in the women around them. "Timmy," he says, voice broken with desperation as he nears them. Timmy turns around and sees him, his eyes going wide and a slow grin breaking out on his face as he stumbles with the small turn of his body. "Come on, we're going."

"What?" he blinks slowly. 

"We're  _ going. _ Come on," Armie says again, close enough now that he can reach out to grab his arm. The music is almost too loud for him to be heard through. Someone holds out a joint to him; he doesn’t notice.

"No!" Timmy withdraws, his eyes skating down Armie's body with scrunched up brows and a grimace. "Not going anywhere with you." Armie’s heart stops.

"Timmy, come  _ on _ ." Armie's afraid he's growing desperate, but Timmy smells like vodka and he doesn’t even  _ like _ vodka and he's sweaty and his hands shake and Armie can't fucking  _ breathe _ .

"Why?" Timmy asks, swaying back towards Abel who lifts a hand to help stabilize him, his fingers curling around Timmy's arm gently to keep him still. Armie catches the subtle brush of Abel's thumb over his skin and he feels nauseous. It's familiar, he's done this before. How many nights did he stabilize Timmy like this? "When'd you get here?"

"Timmy, I need you  _ to focus. _ We're _ leaving. _ " Armie reaches out again and Timmy turns towards Abel to escape him, a fit of giggles springing up.  _ He's high _ , Armie thinks, he's seen him like this a few times, but never quite this bad, this unwilling to be close to Armie. He doesn't know what all he took, if he even took anything, but he doesn't like it.

When Brian called him earlier asking if he'd heard from Timmy recently, he told him they talked the night before when he got to the festival with Abel. Brian expressed his concern; Timmy usually sent him messages when there were drugs around just in case, just so Brian could be aware that there might be some sort of situation he needed help getting out of. He always told him, Brian said. He hadn't gotten so much as a text about the festival this time, he said. He's  _ scared _ , he said. Armie had booked a flight before hanging up, asking if Timmy's publicist knew anything. No, only that he left to go hang out with Abel for the weekend. Did Armie know if he'd ever done anything? Only weed, Armie told him. As far as he knew, only weed.

Timmy's eyes are rimmed red and he looks slightly dazed but angry now that he's stopped laughing. The song changes and with it, the mood, Armie growing weary of the harsh eyes finding his. Abel's hand drifts from Timmy’s arm to his shoulder and glances between the two of them. "You're jealous," Timmy spits out after a moment.

"What?" Armie says, taken aback and sickened as Timmy sways a bit. "No, Timmy. I'm not jealous, come on. We're leaving—"

"You think I like him?"

"Timmy—"

"He's a  _ friennnnnd, _ " Timmy draws out, his arm waving around and resting his hand on Abel's head.

"Alright, I'm going to let you take care of this," Abel says nodding to Armie and stepping back, prying Timmy's fingers off him when he reaches back to grab his shirt. Clingy as always, just not with who Armie’s used to seeing at the receiving end. His fingers twitch.

"What the fuck did you take?" Armie asks tensely when he's gone.

"Mmm, you  _ are _ jealous."

"I'm not jealous! I'm not fucking jealous of him, Timmy, oh my god!" Timmy startles and swallows hard, staring up at him. Armie searches his eyes in an attempt to decipher whether his eyes are red from coke or pot or if he’s been crying, and can't decide. He worries it's all three and he reaches out to him again, but he pushes back against Armie so hard he almost stumbles over.

"Smoke with me," he mumbles, turning towards the table.

"God, no! Listen to me!"

"I don’t like it when you're jealous, you're mean," Timmy mutters and turns back towards him. This time, it's Timmy who reaches out and runs his hands over Armie's hoodie, slow and deliberate. Armie would think he’s teasing if he wasn’t so out of it. " _ Better _ ?" he smirks, starts laughing breathlessly at his own joke.

"I'm not fucking jealous, I'm  _ scared!"  _ Timmy slows his movement and looks up, blinks a few times, drops his hands. "Jesus, Timmy. Have you been sober for a single second since you got here? Do you even  _ know _ what you're on right now?"

"Hey man—" Abel tries to interject.

"I'm not talking to you right now!" Armie turns back to Timmy. "You're scaring me. The only texts I get from you when you're with him are of weed and DJs and then you go fucking radio silent this time and Brian doesn't even know where you are and god, Timmy… and I know, I  _ know _ I smoke weed, too. But not like this, and I don't fucking mix. Jesus look at yourself, you're trying to throw yourself at me and you can barely stand on your own."

"Hey guys, people are starting— there's a room in the back," Abel says, walking over to them and getting Timmy to turn and walk towards it. "Sorry, he's—"

"I don't, want, to talk to you," Armie grinds out. Abel nods and steps back; Armie feels like shit because he knows it's not really his fault. Timmy had been hanging out with him a lot and this had never happened— Abel never pushed him— so this was  _ a Timmy problem _ . Still, he's frustrated and he takes it out where he can.

They get shuffled off into a vacant space away from prying eyes and Timmy mumbles something about needing more weed. "No! No more weed, you're cut off," Armie says sternly. His hands are shaking, not even stuffing them in his hoodie's pocket stops the tremors.

"It's just weed jackass," Timmy mumbles, swaying and walking around in a slow circle, almost like a slow motion twirl.

"Is it?" Timmy looks up at him with a scrunched up face. "I'm actually asking, Timmy. Is it just weed?"

"And vodka. Something else maybe."

" _ Think _ ! Is it just the vodka and weed?" Armie shouts, growing desperate.

"Stop yelling!" Timmy grabs his head and glares at Armie.

"Answer me!"

"You've no fucking right! Go away, I didn't call you to come here," Timmy complains, wandering away.

"You're scaring—"

"I know! I fucking know you said that twelve times! Go away!"

"I'm not leaving until I know you're going to be alright," Armie says intensely, his voice shaking and tense.

"You're killing my buzz," Timmy shoves him. "Need more—"

"Stop, please,  _ god.  _ Just stop," Armie begs, blocking his path and trying to hold him still by gripping his arms. The second his hands touch Timmy, his body caves, almost against his will as if it refuses to push Armie away again. Armie  _ feels  _ the moment he lets go and falls against him, his hands covering his face as Armie pulls him against his chest tightly. 

"Sorry I'm sorry it's just a lot of pot and they kept bringing drinks I didn't take any of the pills I swear I didn’t touch them I just wanted to be high and Abel said the weed would be better so I just did it and more kept showing up and they told me to slow down but I didn’t want to feel so I smoked more and more and— and—"

"Shh, it's okay," Armie says quietly, rubbing his back as his eyes slip shut against the harsh reality of the lives around them. Relief washes over him; he'd convinced himself in his panic that Timmy had done something worse, that he'd get a taste for something he shouldn't and that would be it. He’d be lost and wouldn’t go with Armie. The fear wasn’t without basis; Armie knew how easy it was to fall into that trap and the last thing he wanted was for Timmy to go down that path. Especially when they'd talked about it before. Armie knew it was something Timmy worried about a lot— getting caught up in the messy world of Hollywood and the drugs of stardom.

His shoulders are shaking and it takes a second for Armie to really understand that Timmy's crying. "Timmy?" He's scared for other reasons now, for the heartache seeping out of Timmy's body with every sound of his cries, for the implications of what he told Armie—  _ I didn't want to feel _ — for the way he seemed to be crashing from the alcohol and the pot at the same time.

Timmy lifts his head from Armie's chest and grabs his hoodie to stabilize himself as he leans up and connects their lips.


	2. I figured love would shine through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait!

It doesn’t process, the weight of Timmy’s body swaying forward with too much force, his lips chapped, tears slipping off his face and into the narrow space between them. It doesn’t process. 

He pulls away with a jolt, Timmy’s hands so tight in his hoodie that he can’t go far without stumbling backwards, Timmy falling harder against his chest. “Please,” Timmy murmurs, the air sticky around them with humidity and tension, his hands clawing up Armie’s clothes in desperation to grab his face, to pull him near. 

In the second between Timmy’s request leaving his lips and connecting them to Armie’s again, everything fades. There’s the distant noise of the party, girls shouting at each other to their left. The ground shakes here, Armie thinks, the dirt vibrating with the sound of  _ I need you  _ and exhibileration and tomorrow’s regret. Timmy smells like smoke and sweat and vodka and oranges and it’s heady and he should  _ not _ be losing focus but he is because Timmy’s tongue is pressing into his mouth and he forgot that Timmy was holding his face somehow until his hands are disappearing into his hair to stop him from moving again and it’s too much and not enough and his hands are pushing him away while pulling him closer until he just holds him gently as if afraid to break him while he waits for Timmy to be okay enough to stop.

Timmy tastes like lost opportunities, he thinks. 

Timmy pulls away suddenly, taking a distant step back, leaving Armie breathless and confused. He stares, just stares, the moment dragging on like a rainstorm that just won’t quit, their eyes glued to each other’s as their chests heave in unison.  _ I didn’t want to feel. _

“Timmy—” His voice makes Timmy flinch, the spell broken, his feet taking small steps away from Armie. There could be a hundred people surrounding them and neither would ever know. 

“Just go,” he whispers, taking another step away from Armie and turning over his shoulder. 

When Armie was ten, he got his foot caught in a fishing net while swimming in an area he probably shouldn’t have even known about. The course ropes made him frantic and his friend left him, ran off to supposedly get help, though he’d laughed when he said it. It took Armie half an hour to loosen the knots around his ankle enough to actually get free, his hands had shaken so much and every time he panicked and kicked, he made it worse. Treading water had been the only thing to keep him afloat, the one leg completely useless in the effort. He watched his friend run off and thought he’d come back, surely he’d come back, fighting the sinking feeling in his stomach that he wouldn’t. He’d always learned to deal with things himself, never trusting anyone else to take care of it for him. No one had ever really given him reason to think he should act otherwise. The taste of seawater didn’t leave him for days; while he knew it was a psychological tick making him think the water was rushing back up over his face, he couldn’t stop the taste from haunting him. He’d been sore the entire week for treading water in the midst of an anxiety attack, and he never went back to that beach.

Timmy walks away from him and he’s stuck, foot caught in a net, lungs filling and expelling water, vision consumed with racing thoughts. Every second that passes is another second of treading water that could kill him, his chest tightening. “Tim!” He goes under, the lingering feel of Timmy’s hands pulling at his hair sinking him. 

“ _ Tim!” _

He doesn’t stop walking and Armie knows he has to move, to go after him, to stop him from returning to a party where he does what it takes to stop feeling things. If his own body is any judge, Timmy is feeling things, Armie thinks. 

He blinks, watches him nearly disappear, panic rising up as he finds it in him to move his feet, to start walking after him. “Wait,” he calls out, Timmy pausing and glancing over his shoulder. “You can’t just,  _ kiss  _ me and then,  _ walk away _ ,” he says, nearing him. “You can’t do that.”

“What do you want me to do?” Timmy asks, dejected. He still doesn’t fully face him and keeps his eyes down. Armie wonders how much of his buzz is still lingering, how sober and clean he actually feels. He has no clear idea of whether or not Timmy’s thinking is clouded, but by the looks of him, he seems exhausted. His shoulders slump and he doesn’t bother to push his hair away from his face, his hands limp at his sides. Armie’s heart seizes and he acts without thinking, wonders afterwards if this is how Timmy went about kissing him— acting without thinking. 

He steps closer and tugs at his shirt to turn his body, then carefully wraps his arms around Timmy, snaking an arm under one of his to help offer some support of his weight. Timmy’s body shudders against him and though it takes him a moment to truly respond, he grips at Armie’s hoodie and presses his face against his shoulder. They stand like this for minutes until it becomes apparent neither truly wants to let go, both taking comfort from one another without hesitation. “I want to take you away from here, okay?” 

Timmy nods silently, clinging to Armie despite him trying to pull their bodies apart, causing light laughter to bubble up out of Armie, some strange form of relief seeping in with Timmy wanting him close instead of far. Armie’s hands trail up his body to turn his head so Armie can see his eyes. “Timmy, we have to walk back through there, okay?” He nods, but it’s slow and his fingers curl deeper into Armie’s clothes. “Are you okay?” Timmy shrugs. “Hey, I got you, okay?” 

Timmy searches his face for signs of disappointment thinking it must surely be there somewhere, but Armie turns his face to kiss his temples and he feels warm. “Hold my hand?” Timmy asks, just intoxicated enough to not care. 

Armie holds him, aware of his delicate state of mind and how easily he could walk away and insist Armie leave him alone again; Armie doesn’t want to  _ force _ him to leave, but he always knew he would if he worried enough. He plays it safe now, thinking this is a small price to pay to get Timmy somewhere safe where he can drink some water and sleep it off. He drops his hands from Timmy’s face and pries his off of the fabric, taking both hands in his and squeezing before dropping one and turning to leave. He pulls Timmy along at his side, walking slowly until Timmy begins matching pace more steadily. 

As they approach the door to return to the party, Armie shifts his hand so their fingers lock in place. He feels Timmy at his back immediately, as if drawing closer to enhance their feeling of comfort found within the hold. Timmy's slender fingers tighten in his grasp and for a moment, he squeezes back, taking a second to remember all the times he'd done this and wanted to do this since meeting him. He tugs him closer to his side, tucking him against his body protectively as they weave through bodies to get to the other side. The smell of the party makes Armie sick to his stomach but Timmy's hand keeps him grounded as they move, reminds him why he gave all this up when he was younger.

Timmy's hand slackens in his and he turns to see why, noting the way his eyes are glued to the area Abel’s friends are. “Hey,” he says, tugging at his hand. Timmy looks back at him and he smiles to press the anxiety of Timmy going back to them away. He pulls his arm in front of him and drops Timmy's hand so he can grab his bicep with one hand and press his other into the small of Timmy's back. “Come on, we have to keep walking, Tim,” he says in his ear, keeping him close where he can watch him move. One of Timmy's hands lifts to cover Armie's on his bicep as they walk, slowly making their way out of the warehouse. 

When the doors open, Timmy drops his hand and stops walking, halted and still, Armie nearly running into him. He gulps air into his lungs and presses his hands through his hair as Armie watches somewhat helplessly. “You okay?” 

“Dizzy,” Timmy replies. Armie stands in front of him and holds his arms in his hands with a nod. People pass by laughing at something one of them has said, a small group nearby chatting loudly. The smell of pot fades outside in the open air, but the party lingers all around them and sticks to their bodies like a flu. “How far?” 

“Not very,” Armie says, pulling his phone out to get them a ride, realizing he didn't actually have a hotel set or anything. He calls a car and returns his hands to Timmy to rub soothing circles on him until he's ready to leave. 

They walk in silence, fill the car with hushed  _ you go first’ _ s and  _ sorry _ ’s when they bump into each other in the back seat. Timmy stares out the window, Armie stares at him. The headlights on the road turn his shin a deep shade of red, a harsh contrast to his normally pale skin, the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones catching the glow of night. “I’m sorry I kissed you,” he whispers after a while, refusing still to meet Armie’s eyes, his body still. 

His eyes drop to Timmy’s throat, to his adam’s apple bobbing slowly, his jaw clenching. He sees the subtle shift in his shoulders, a nervous tick. Watches the way his feet move against each other in microscopic movements as if he’s flexing and relaxing them in his shoes. The driver’s eyes skip back to them through the rearview mirror, but Armie doesn’t notice. He reaches out and skims his fingers down Timmy’s arm until he can pull his hand closer, taking it in both of his. 

When they arrive at a hotel , Armie doesn’t release his hand until he truly has to, swapping the touch for a hand at his back to keep him steady. He brings Timmy inside and sits him down before going to the counter to get a room, his eyes flicking back to Timmy often to ensure he hasn’t stumbled away from him. He gets two beds, unsure of what should be expecting with their night, how willing Timmy would be to let him comfort him. 

Timmy’s body weighs heavily against him in the elevator, Armie’s thumb rubbing along Timmy’s hand in his grasp between them. His hair tickles Armie’s neck when he stretches up to rest his head against his shoulder. Armie places his free hand against Timmy’s neck to hold him there and kisses the side of his head, hoping he was feeling alright, too afraid to ask just yet. 

He gets him a water as soon as they go inside and sits down with him, making sure he sips it. He tells him about his week and stories of the kids, keeps things light as Timmy leans against his shoulder. There are a few instances where Timmy speaks up and prompts new stories or lines of conversation, which Armie takes gratefully. By the time the water is gone, Timmy’s a little clearer but far more exhausted. Armie smiles when he tucks his legs up onto the bed and into Armie’s lap, his innocent eyes staring up at Armie as if to ask,  _ is this okay? _

“You know I love you, right?” Armie whispers, his hands on Timmy’s legs.

“I know,” Timmy sighs, pressing his forehead against Armie’s shoulder. Something lays under the surface, just out of reach, the true meaning of their words lost in ruins of what could have been, what might still be, if only they take the leap. For now, in silence, they hold one another, slowly making their way up the bed and under the covers so Armie can properly hold onto Timmy, his hand in his hair. 

“You scared me today,” Armie says softly, uncertain of whether or not Timmy was even still awake. 

“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to...I didn’t want to disappoint you,” he cries, his voice tense and quiet. It breaks Armie’s heart. 

“No, you didn’t— Timmy, I was just worried. I’m not disappointed,” he insists. He knew too well how easy it is to let that line of logic be the excuse you need to keep going. Everyone’s already disappointed, what’s the point of stopping now? Stopping means forgiveness and forgiveness means the cycle starts all over again the next time you want a hit. He knows. He knows too well. 

“Everyone else is,” Timmy mutters. 

“I’m not, I swear, Timmy. I just… You mean too much to me. Thinking about you… I got that text from Brian saying he didn’t know if you were okay and I lost it. And then I saw everyone, I know...I know what they do, Timmy. And I  _ know  _ you have good judgement but it fucking scares me because I  _ know _ how easy it is to justify the little things and get tired of them and want something else and then you don’t even know who you are...”

“I know,” Timmy mumbles, pressing closer to Armie. 

“I just don’t want to lose you,” Armie says, his voice breaking. Timmy looks up, peers into his eyes, his own breathing speeding up. An understanding passes between them that this isn’t just about the drugs. 

“You won’t,” Timmy whispers, afraid to break the moment of truth between them. He lets a hand trail over Armie’s face, his fingers settling against his lips. He feels as much as sees Armie swallow, the darkness of the room hiding their emotion for them. 

“I don’t want you to hide from feeling, Timmy,” Armie murmurs, the words caught on his fingers. “That’s not healthy. Using the weed to stop feeling isn’t healthy.” Timmy nods. “Just talk to me, don’t hide.” SIlence grows between them, Timmy withdrawing his hands and laying on his back, his body still touching Armie’s along the side. 

“It hurts,” Timmy chokes out. Armie stares at the ceiling and contemplates the words.  _ It _ hurts.  _ You _ hurt.  _ This _ hurts. 

“It doesn’t have to,” Armie whispers, his hand finding Timmy’s. 

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Timmy shakes his head. Armie turns to look at him and feels his breath catch when he finds he’s already looking. 

“ _ Yes _ , Timmy. I do.” Armie thinks of the kiss, of way Timmy held onto him when he wrapped his arms around him. He thinks of midnight facetimes and texts at 3pm about random things that remind them of each other. He thinks of times they didn’t talk as much and how easy it had been to slip back into it. He thinks about holding him and how every time he said goodbye he felt like he was leaving a part of himself behind. He does know, this time he does. He knows exactly what’s being said and what he wants. 

The first time he read the book, Armie was caught off guard by the lack of declarations of love. He’d assumed at least once, certainly… He didn’t understand at first, that kind of love that goes unspoken was simply foreign to him. The next time he read it, he realized they’d said it all along, in their touch and desperation. He’d longed for it, wondered how someone could know so certainly another person felt the same without words ever being exchanged. Somewhere along the line, he started realizing that the way Timmy found him in crowds and bumped his arm against his, the way he’d grab extra whatever-he-was-drinking for Timmy without asking, the way they’d text each other and reply within minutes despite the time, the way they could communicate without speaking— he realized, slowly, and without his own awareness, he had fallen in love with Timmy. And with that acknowledgement came a deep understanding of his feelings for him, of the bond they shared and a depth of feeling they didn’t speak of but felt as sure as they could feel their own bodies. 

He holds him now and knows he understands what he’s saying, that  _ this, _ whatever it is, doesn’t have to hurt because he isn’t alone. He pulls him closer and knows by some sixth sense that Timmy understands his embrace means more than  _ I’m here right now _ , that it means  _ I’m here forever. _

He tries to find words but knows they’re cheap. Anyone can give him words, he realizes. Timmy relaxes into his touch and nods at his chest, a silent acceptance of Armie’s heart. He holds him until they’re both asleep, until they wake to each other’s face, until Timmy hides against his chest as it all rushes back to him. Only then does Armie break free, lifting up to pull Timmy closer, kissing his cheeks, tickling his sides lightly until Timmy smiles. And then, only then, does he allow his hands to wander to his face, delicately touching his jaw and skimming his eyelashes and nose. Timmy stops trying to push feeling away, instead chases it, tries to feel  _ more.  _

Armie smiles softly and leans in to press his forehead against Timmy’s, whispers, “Good morning,” and kisses him soundly on the lips to remind them both it wasn’t a dream. He thinks as Timmy sinks against him and caves to the kiss, that this, regardless of confessions spoken or unsaid, is  _ love _ . 


End file.
